Word Precision
by greengirlblue
Summary: A conversation on infinity, truth, and Yuki’s theoretical competence in hanging laundry.


word precision  
a greengirlblue prodection  
based on natsuki takaya's _fruits basket_

When Tohru is seventeen years old, she lifts her arms over her head in super slow motion. The white cloth of a large square bed sheet unfurls in the air like a crisp, blank sheet of paper, and Tohru pins it up to the clothesline with plastic clothespins. The Sohmas have a dryer, but there's something about air and sunshine that appeals to Tohru more than fabric softener and lint screens.

Yuki is quiet today, which isn't particularly unusual. He stands next to Tohru looking up at the sky momentarily, the weight of the laundry basket pressed against his thighs so he has to lean back slightly, and his arms are stretched into two pale, straight lines as he grips either handle. It may not seem like much, but it keeps Tohru from having to bend down each time she reaches for something new to hang up, and Yuki moves with her as she makes progress down the line.

"Honda-san?"

Yuki has the kind of voice that fits in this kind of peaceful setting. Even though he's broken the silence, it's not surprising at all. In fact, Tohru idly decides, Yuki's voice just now was entirely fitting, like the sound of cloth snapping in the wind, like grass rustling at their ankles, like cicadas in the branches of the trees surrounding the clearing.

Before, Tohru was humming a song that was on the radio earlier that morning, so her question - a polite "Hmm?" - comes out as an awkward ending to a familiar tune, and it makes the ends of Yuki's lips quirk up.

"I don't mind finishing this," Yuki says, nodding in the general direction of empty clotheslines. "I've been so busy lately, I haven't had time to spend by myself outside. May I...?"

He's carefully constructed the question in such a way that Tohru can't think he's trying to do her a favor, but it takes some more prompting anyway before she's completely convinced it's okay to leave him to his own devices. Even then, she stops in the side entrance of the house and turns to look at Yuki. The basket is solidly placed on the ground, and he's leaning over it in a graceful curved line, his hair falling over his face as he pulls out someone's sock. As if sensing the weight of Tohru's eyes, he abruptly straightens and looks over at her. With mock disapproval, he puts his hands on either hip, the wet sock still in hand.

"You don't trust me?" he asks.

"Oh no, sorry! Yes, I'm sure you'll do fine!" Tohru apologizes quickly, but stops short when Yuki laughs and turns back to the laundry basket, fishing out the mate to the first sock.

He's changed so much, Tohru thinks, from when she first met him, and when they first became friends. He's also the same. Just as kind, and just as shy, but there's something that has changed that makes his movements looser, more natural.

"You know," Yuki says, clipping the socks next to each other so their toes touch, "When I was little, I tried to count all the stars.

"Of course, there were too many to count," he adds, and Tohru doesn't comprehend that she's standing on the porch like this, hand against the door, elbow bent, head turned one way and toes another. Yuki pulls out an indistinguishable mass of black cloth. With that color, it probably belongs to Kyo, but Yuki respectfully hangs it up next to the socks.

This too, is something that has changed, but something that isn't not like Yuki.

"But I kept trying, anyway" Yuki continues, oblivious to Tohru's thoughts, "every time I was outside. I think I got to twenty-three or four stars, once, before I realized that it was impossible. But I think..."

Yuki pauses, looks up at the sky again. Wind snaps the laundry on the line.

"I think that's when I realized what infinity meant," he says.

For a segment of time measured in breathing, Tohru watches the scene as if Yuki were an actor on stage who has just merged so seamlessly with his character, the real person the actor was a moment before no longer exists. In the audience, trapped in her own body, Tohru feels as though she is the dream.

The moment passes when Yuki turns to face her again, a half-apologetic, half-puzzled smile ghosting over his lips.

"Sorry," he says, eyebrows quirking into a goofy-looking expression. "I don't know what I'm trying to say, really."

"When I was little," she says eventually, "I remember standing outside on the sidewalk and then going inside to look out the window to make sure everything outside was there even when I wasn't, and it was. I remember thinking, 'this is truth.' "

Tohru moves her hands through the air as she speaks, fingers darting like fish underwater. Yuki's lips are pressed together in a small, curious expression, like he gets what Tohru is saying, but doesn't _at all_.

"I guess… that doesn't make any sense," she says apologetically.

"It's 'the inability to express what you mean'," Yuki grins. "I get that a lot, too."

Now Tohru waves her hands in the air like she's flinging water off her fingers.

"There's a name for it, though," she says, "Right? There's a word for what we're trying to say."

"Suddenly finding the answer," Yuki agrees. "Like..."

"Enigma?"

It's not the right word, but Tohru feels a moment of pride for thinking of it. She's aware of Yuki looking at her when she takes a moment to stare up at the sky herself. There aren't any stars out now, of course -- just clouds and a lot of blue space.

"Enigma…" Tohru says softly to herself, eyes drifting from the sky and back to Yuki as she searches for the right word. "Enigma… enig… ma…"

"Epiphany!" Yuki says brightly. For a moment, he's wearing that infectious smile Tohru has only ever seen him wear around herself or Hatsuharu-kun.

"Yes, that's it!" Tohru agrees.

Yuki laughs softly, reaching down for another article of wet clothing as if suddenly remembering the laundry basket and why he came outside in the first place.

"I'm glad we figured that out," he says, and even as he turns his back to Tohru, she can hear his smile stretch across his words. "I would go crazy thinking about it all day, otherwise."

That somehow ends the conversation. Yuki continues slowly down the line, taking twice as long as it would Tohru because he's lost in thought. Tohru stares after him without seeing him, feet still turned towards the door and head turned in Yuki's direction.

There is something here, Tohru thinks, that she should know. There is something important in this moment that has a name, but she doesn't know what it is yet, and maybe she never will.

"Honda-san?"

"Y-yes!?"

And then, suddenly, Tohru sees it, because she's looking at Yuki as he gazes back, his face tilted towards her with mild concern mixed with quiet curiosity.

"Is something the matter?" Yuki asks.

In reply, Tohru just smiles. Yuki can't know what Tohru has just realized, and it's something he may never guess, but he smiles back just like that. Yes, that's exactly it, Tohru thinks, and turns, and opens the door.


End file.
